


we're built to last, you and I

by bluebacchus



Series: Halloween Terrorfest 2019 [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cock Worship, Ghost Sex, Glasses Sideburns and Blowjobs, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Ritual Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-12-27 07:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21115235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebacchus/pseuds/bluebacchus
Summary: His new flat is haunted, but Edward doesn't mind.Written in two parts for Day 2 (never sleep again) and Day 8 (call in the spirits) of Halloween TerrorFest 2019! Alternative title is "the spooky fic where Little gets railed by Jopson's ghost"





	1. never sleep again

**Author's Note:**

> HERE SHE IS
> 
> It's set in the 1980s because I accidentally typed 'VCR' and went with it. Little also has massive '80s glasses just because.

“I’ve been alone for so long,” the voice said, so faint Edward thought it was the last moments of a dream. “But now you’re here. I wish you could see me like I can see you. I wish that very much.”

Edward opened his eyes. The room was empty. He shook his head. The new house was getting to him, that was all. The house, with its old wallpaper and dusty carpets and claw-footed furniture that had been mysteriously left behind since the 1850s, was as good a house as any to drive a man mad. Edward reached for his glasses. He wouldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. The way things were going, he thought he’d never sleep again.

The television only received three channels, so he dug through the boxes still piled in the entranceway until he found his VCR and plugged it in. The first box of VHS movies he found was, ironically, his horror movie collection.

_This is fine,_ he thought to himself. _Ghosts aren’t real. I’m just not used to the sounds the house makes_. Defiant, he shook The Exorcist out of its box and pressed the film into the slot.

When the drink he had mixed during the previews was finished and the plate of peanut butter crackers was empty, Edward laid his head down on the couch and nearly gave himself whiplash with the speed he sat back up.

“Aauugh!” he yelled quietly. He could swear he had just put his head in someone’s lap, cheek pillowed on a cold thigh.

The sofa visibly dipped next to him, the pocket of cold air where he had laid his head rising to meet his outstretched hand.

Edward Little did not believe in ghosts, but he was alone in a strange place and thought, _what have I got to lose?_

“Hello?” he asked the cold air next to him.

The TV turned to static.

“Hello,” a voice said. It sounded like it was coming through the television, like it was an old radio that was slightly out of tune.

Edward gulped.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Thomas. Thomas Jopson. Do you live here now?”

Thomas Jopson had a nice voice, even through the static. It was soft and polite, with just a hint of an old Marylebone accent. It made sense, Edward thought, since the house was in Marylebone.

“I do. I just moved in last week.”

“I hope you’ll stay,” the voice said as it faded away. The movie came back on.

* * *

He leaves the radio on, day and night, tuned to a long-gone station that provides constant static and white noise. Somehow, Thomas uses it to talk to him. Edward hears his voice come through the radio. Sometimes it’s only a few words, but sometimes Edward sits by the radio like he’s on the phone with a friend (or a lover, since he hangs on to Thomas’s every word and waits all day for him to speak again) and they talk for hours. Sometimes Edward can feel a cool wind brush against his cheek and he leans into it like it’s a caress.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” is what he hears most often through the sweeping frequencies and strange bursts of music from the local radio station.

“Were you alone for a long time?” Edward asks each time, and each time he does not receive a response.

The silence is as unbearable for Thomas as it is for him, and his voice always comes back, offering to tell him a story about his life as a sailor. In exchange, Edward talks about his day, his job, and how he left everything behind to start again.

“Were you married?” Thomas asks one night. Edward can barely make out the words through the static.

“No,” he answers. “Never.”

“Good,” Thomas says, “I want you to myself.” Edward shivers, but he doesn’t know if it’s the chill of Thomas’s ghost or his possessiveness that causes his hair to stand on end.

* * *

It’s a surprise when he goes to undress for bed one night and he can see a figure sitting at his desk.

“It’s just me,” Thomas’s voice speaks from the darkness. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Why can I see you?” Edward gasps. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.

“It takes a lot of energy. It takes even more to touch,” Thomas says, “but there’s a lightning storm blowing in tonight. I can feel it crackling in the air. It has to be tonight.”

Edward wants to ask _what _has to be tonight, but he doesn’t. He knows.

Thomas steps into the light.

“Oh,” Edward breathes. He unbuttons his shirt, letting it fall to the ground as he steps towards Thomas. Thomas is handsome, he notices, with a sloped nose and soft blue eyes. He has a lock of jet black hair that has fallen from place which he pushes back across his forehead. He’s not a gentleman, Edward notices, for all his affectations and politeness. He’s just a man, just like him.

_Except he’s dead,_ Edward reminds himself, but in the dimness of the bedroom, the light of the moon obscured by dark storm clouds, he has trouble remembering this.

Thomas is beautiful, and he’s looking at Edward with a desperate desire that Edward has never seen before.

“Please,” Thomas says, “I’ve been so alone.”

They meet on their knees in the centre of the four-poster bed, lips and teeth and tongues clashing as hands grasp at flesh and they pull each other closer. Thomas is warm when Edward touches him, and smells like fresh-baked bread. Edward reaches to unbutton Thomas’s waistcoat, stripping it off and immediately lifting the red sweater he wears over his head, only to find another shirt blocking his access to the skin of Thomas’s chest.

“Bloody Victorians and all their bloody layers,” Edward mumbles as he unbuttons this shirt and makes his way to the smallclothes Thomas is wearing underneath. He pushes him down, tugging his trousers off and then his breeches, and when he _finally_ has Thomas laid out naked before him on the bed, he pauses to let his eyes roam over the perfect body below him.

“You’re beautiful, Thomas,” Edward whispers, leaning in to kiss him again. Thomas laughs and pulls off Edward’s glasses.

“You may laugh at my clothing, but why are your spectacles so big?” Thomas folds the arms in and places them on the nightstand. “And what, pray tell, are _these?_” he asks, thumbing the gold bars through Edward’s nipples.

Edward can’t contain the pitiful sound of arousal he makes when Thomas flicks the metal bars again.

“Does that hurt you?” he asks, concern colouring his features.

“No,” Edward gasps, taking Thomas’s hands in his own and bringing them back to his chest. “It feels good.”

“Oh,” Thomas smiles, and sits up with Edward in his lap. He seals his lips around a nipple and sucks. Edward moans long and low. He can feel his cock harden inside his new Levi’s as his hips jerk with each lick and suck to the sensitive buds. Thomas pulls off with a _pop_ and looks up at Edward like he’s a puppy waiting for a treat.

He deserves one for how fast he brought Edward to full arousal without once touching his cock.

Edward pushes Thomas down into the pillows, hand skimming over the fine black hairs on his chest straight to his hips, where Thomas’s half-hard cock lays waiting. Edward nuzzles his cheek against it, savouring the feel of the soft, hot skin against his face. It has been so long since he was able to take his time as a lover, to explore and relish the sensation of another man’s arousal. Thomas, he thinks, is the perfect altar to worship at. The way he moans when Edward’s lips first caress his foreskin sounds like a hymn, one he repeats as Edward kisses and nips at the skin as he moves his hand up and down the shaft, the velvet skin encasing the hardness that makes Edward’s mouth water. When he can’t bear the temptation any longer, Edward lets the head of Thomas’s cock breach his lips where he swirls his tongue around the head, making it slick and slippery and satisfying his tastebuds which crave the salty bitterness of another man’s seed. Edward moans as he takes more of the hot flesh into his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose. All he can smell is the musk of Thomas’s skin; all he can taste is his cock. He pushes himself deeper, almost choking from a lack of practice, until he can feel the swollen head of Thomas’s prick butt against the opening to his throat. He looks up, meeting Thomas’s glassy-eyed stare as he pulls back, leaving trails of saliva strung between his mouth and Thomas’s cock. Leaving the tip in his mouth, he sucks, wringing a sharp _oh _from Thomas as he writhes and thrusts up into Edward’s mouth. Holding his hips down with an arm slung across his lower belly, Edward sinks down again, letting Thomas consume his every sense. He loves the smell of him, the taste of him, the way Thomas whimpers and says his name each time he withdraws and sucks and then welcomes him back in, as deep as he can take it. The look in Thomas’s eyes as he watches Edward willingly choke himself on his cock could make him come in his pants, but he can’t. Not when he aches for something more.

“Thomas,” he rasps, pulling off with one last suck to the head, “I need more.”

“Yes,” Thomas said, opening his arms and welcoming Edward into their fold as he flops over the other man’s chest. Thomas kisses him, sucking on his tongue like Edward had just done to his cock and flipping them over, letting Edward relax back into the pillows as his trousers and pants are pulled from his hips.

“There’s no, uh, lube, but I have lotion in the loo,” Edward says, suddenly feeling awkward. “And there’s condoms in the top drawer.”

“Condoms?” Thomas asks, cocking his head to the side as he sits back on his heels. It’s remarkably cute.

“Ah,” Edward says, realizing that condoms and lube weren’t a commonality in Thomas’s time. “Protection? Against diseases.”

“I’m dead, Edward. I don’t think I can catch diseases.”

“Oh. Right.” Edward feels ashamed for killing the mood, and it must show on his face because when Thomas comes back holding a tube of hand lotion, he tosses it on the pillows beside Edward and crawls back on top of him.

“Will you touch me?” Thomas asks, nosing at Edward’s bearded jaw while his hands stroke over the planes of his chest.

Edward reaches down for Thomas’s cock, but his hand is stopped by Thomas’s.

“Not like that. Just put your hands on me.” Edward complies, rubbing a hand up and down Thomas’s spine while the other traces over the curve of his shoulder, down his bicep, over his wrist and palm and fingers, which he pulls towards him and takes in his mouth, leaving Thomas with no question of what he wants to do next.

“Please,” he begs, lifting his knees and exposing himself to Thomas’s icy gaze. Thomas smiles at him like he’s a gift, and presses a spit-slick finger into his hole.

Edward arches his back and his breath stutters with just one finger twisting and probing inside him. Thomas seems to find his prostate with the precision of a doctor, and rubs his finger against the spot.

“You’ve done this before,” Edward pants. His hands dig into the sheets, pulling them out from where he had tucked them under the mattress only a week before.

“Not for a long time,” Thomas says, “but it’s something you don’t forget.” He adds a second finger coated with the white lotion. It slips in beside the first. Edward has missed the stretch and angles his hips so he pushes back against the fingers inside him.

“How long?” he asks. He doesn’t want to come from Thomas’s fingers alone, and he distracts himself with his curiosity.

“What year is it?”

“1987.”

“A hundred and forty years, or thereabouts. I think I died in ’48. I was in the navy,” Thomas explains conversationally, as if he isn’t knuckle deep in Edward’s ass.

“And you died here? Can I ask that?” Edward says, trying desperately to hold it together enough to speak.

“This was my home. Where I died, there was nothing. There was no one.”

Edward doesn’t have to lift his head to know that Thomas’s demeanour has changed. He sounds bitter and hurt. Edward reaches a hand down to brush away the lock of hair that has fallen across Thomas’s forehead.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Edward says, and Thomas’s face lights up again.

“Are you ready, Edward? May I make love to you?”

Edward can’t stop the big goofy grin that spreads across his face at Thomas’s polite words.

“I don’t care what you do to me, as long as you’re inside me,” he says intently and wraps his legs around Thomas’s waist.

Thomas makes a surprise ‘o’ with his mouth, but lines himself up and pushes in.

Edward sees stars. He’s not as stretched as he likes to be, but he’s so hard he feels like he might faint if he stands up. The pain from the stretch is the only thing keeping him from coming on the first thrust. Thomas pushes in deep with strong, decisive thrusts, balls slapping against Edward’s ass as he bottoms out with each slow thrust. It feels amazing, and he reaches up to cup Thomas’s cheeks and brings him close enough to kiss. It changes the angle. Edward’s initial yelp when the head of Thomas’s cock brushes against his sweet spot turns to a litany of whimpers when it’s continuously hit, again and again, as Thomas keeps their mouths connected.

“So good, Thomas, you feel so good. God, I need you,” he moans into Thomas’s mouth, and Thomas responds in whispers against his lips.

“Never leave me, Edward, please, I couldn’t bear to be left alone again, not after I’ve had you like this, please.”

“I won’t,” Edward whispers back, lips dragging against Thomas’s cheek, “I can’t. No one else could ever compare to you.”

“Promise me, Edward,” he says, pulling back and hoisting Edward’s legs over his shoulders, resuming his thrusts with Edward bent almost in half below him. “Promise me you’ll stay with me.”

Edward thrashes his head from side to side, lost in the overwhelming sensations. “I promise,” he says, repeating it like a prayer each time Thomas fills him. He can’t help but feel baptised by the sweat that rolls off his body, each bead a droplet of Holy water that he will drown in, only to be reborn as a new man. It’s what he wanted when he moved here; a new house, a new job, a new start. None of it seemed to matter now, not compared to what he had found here.

“I love you, Edward,” Thomas says, kissing every part of him he can reach.

“Yes,” Edward gasps, “yes.”

He comes with Thomas’s cock buried inside him, knees up near his ears, with Thomas’s voice in his ears and the sight of his beautiful face as he reaches ecstasy. Thomas lets Edward unfold himself before lying down on the soiled bed beside him.

“Did you mean it?” Thomas asks, twirling a lock of Edward’s hair around his finger.

Edward doesn’t ask which part. “Yes,” he says, stroking Thomas’s side from hip to ribs. “How much longer do you have?”

“An hour, maybe less. I can feel it getting harder to stay tangible.”

Edward made a nondescript sound.

“I’ll miss you,” he says finally.

“I’ll still be here,” Thomas says, kissing Edward’s nose.

“Yes, I suppose. I’ll miss touching you, then.”

“Then let’s not waste a moment we do have.”


	2. Call in the spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ghost of Thomas Jopson knows what he wants and he knows how to get it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for vague allusions to the AIDS crisis (it's an 80s AU, after all), murder, and more smut

He hates leaving the house.

Every time he leaves, he imagines Thomas waiting at the window like a loyal terrier, waiting for him to return but never sure that he will.

But Edward has to go to work, where he tries to focus on the tasks assigned to him while his mind wanders back to the master bedroom on the night of the lightning storm and he finds himself sketching out blueprints for an energy field instead of the building plans he is set to work on. He is surprised it takes his manager a full week before she pulls him into her office.

“Mr. Little, I can’t help but notice you’ve been distracted lately,” she says. Even now, he’s staring out the window at the dark clouds covering the London sky instead of fully listening.

“You know, there’s no shame in asking for help,” she says.

“It’s not about the work,” Edward says. “It’s at home. My… my partner needs me.”

“Are they sick?” his manager asks. She responds with a perfect mixture of professionalism and empathy.

“I need to be there with him,” Edward whispers.

“Oh,” she says, face falling. “My brother had… he passed last year. I understand, Edward, I do. Here, let me-“ she rifles through the top drawer on her desk, hands shaking. Edward feels guilty for misleading her, but he can’t think of a decent way to admit that he’s fallen intensely in love with the ghost that haunts his house and spends all day and night agonizing over electrical circuits and plans to make Thomas visible again.

She hands him a form that he signs, then she signs, and then says she will send up to head office.

“I’ve given you a month off, Edward. I hope it’s enough. Just know that no matter what happens, you have a place here when you’re ready to come back.”

Edward stares at the piece of paper.

“That’s all I have to do?”

His manager nods. “Go be with him. You’re a good architect, Edward, but you’re also a good man. I won’t force you to choose.”

He swallows the lump in his throat and rises, thanking the woman and walking out. He doesn’t stop until he slams shut the door of his car. His immediate thought is to go home and spend the rest of the day curled up in bed around the portable radio, talking to Thomas, but the pad of paper with his rough sketch of an even rougher energy generator pokes into his hip like a sign from God. Thomas isn’t expecting home for another three hours, so he turns his car down the alley behind his building and takes the left hand turn that will take him to the junkyard.

* * *

The entire ground floor of his house hums with electricity.

The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stands up almost permanently and he gets shocked every time he tries to use the toaster, but it’s worth it. Thomas can’t make himself tangible for more than a couple minutes at a time, but he remains visible and a constant presence by Edward’s side as he tinkers with the mechanics of his generators.

“My Edward is so clever,” Thomas says as Edward plugs in the latest machine he soldered together, the chill of his spectral form draped over Edward’s back. He’s not sure if it’s Thomas materializing or just his words – ‘_my _Edward’- that cause a tremor to run up his spine. The lights flicker menacingly as the machine starts up, voltage metre vacillating wildly before the plug sparks and Thomas’s lips crash against his own, knocking him backwards over the cord and flat onto his back.

Thomas straddles his hips, wasting no time in pulling off the kerchief he wears at his neck and tossing it over his shoulder before bending down to kiss Edward senseless. Once they’re satisfactorily attached at the mouth, Thomas stretches himself out, half on top of Edward, one thigh tucked in between his legs to rut against as Edward presses kiss after kiss to Thomas’s face and neck.

And then the power goes out, Thomas disappears, and Edward punches the floor and swears.

* * *

Edward hugs the pillow to his chest, pretending it’s Thomas. It’s not hard to pretend; Thomas is lying in bed next to him, his image superimposed over the pillows so if Edward really tries, he can convince himself he’s really stroking the back of his ghostly lover’s neck and not fondling a pillow.

“I wish there was a way to leave this place with you,” Edward says sleepily.

“There is,” Thomas answers quietly, “but you aren’t going to like it.”

* * *

He’s just a kid.

He pretends so hard not to be, to swagger and swear and swig cheap vodka from the bottle as he robs another john, but there’s something in the pout of his lips and the sway of his hips that lets Edward know that he’s barely into his twenties. He’s just a kid.

A kid who looks a lot like Thomas, until he opens his eyes.

The eyes are all wrong. They’re dark, blurred by the constant high from drink or drugs or sex, and dull from what he has to do to get them.

_It’s the only way,_ Edward tells himself, and he offers the kid a smile.

“Hey,” he says, casually, as if he isn’t in love with a ghost who is in desperate need of a body.

“I don’ do it for free, mate,” the kid answers, and Edward’s stomach twists into knots.

“If I pay you enough,” Edward says, imitating the posh accent he spent years trying to hide, “will you come home with me?”

The kid checks him out, auspiciously peering around him to see what kind of car he drives. He nods, clearly weighing the danger of going home with a stranger against the danger of staying another night on the street. Edward finds a part of himself wishing that he chooses right, that he stays, spits in Edward’s face and calls him a dirty old man.

He doesn’t.

The kid looks more comfortable in the passenger seat than he has any right to. Edward’s fingers drum against the steering wheel as he turns the car around and heads towards his house.

“So, what’s wrong with you?”

“Hmm?” Edward asks.

“You’re a decent lookin’ bloke. Got a car. Got money. What’re you doin’ takin’ me home, huh?”

Edward swallows audibly. “My partner, he… he died.”

It’s not a lie.

The kid’s fringe flops forward over his brow, obscuring his eyes. “D’you want to call me his name?”

Edward nods. “Thomas. His name is Thomas.”

* * *

It’s Thomas who ends up holding him down while Edward ties the restraints in place. He ducks around the kid’s wild kicks, wrestling his thin limbs into place and tying them as tight as he can before replacing Thomas at the head and tying his arms down, too.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” Thomas says. The kid screams, and screams, and screams until Edward can’t bear it and ties another piece of cloth around the kid’s mouth, gagging him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but Thomas is standing in front of him, hope in his eyes, and Edward doesn’t feel half as bad as he should for what he’s about to do.

It took him a month to find the book, and another week to track down the last of the ingredients. He didn’t leave the house unless he had to, loathe to leave Thomas alone for a minute longer. He’s kept up with his electricity bill, but the water and gas payments have lapsed, and he’s sure they’ll both be shut off soon. It won’t matter, he rationalizes. If this goes as planned, he and Thomas will leave, run away and start a new life somewhere.

He mixes the oil and honey, sprinkles in the herbs, dips the black tourmaline in the concoction, and begins to recite the words.

The dagger, a black shard of glass that he spent most of his life savings on at an auction halfway across the country, seems to glow when he sharpens it against the crystal.

“No,” the kid pleads, “no, please, let me go, let me live and I promise I’ll… I’ll-“

But Edward’s eyes meet the ice blue of Thomas’s, and he plunges the point of the knife into the kid’s chest.

* * *

The next hour is the longest hour of Edward Little’s life. It’s just him and the lifeless body of not-Thomas, the kid he just killed (the kid he just _murdered), _and he doesn’t know what to do. The author of the book didn’t mention how long it would take for the new soul to inhabit the body, or what would happen to the old soul. Thomas speculated, but even he didn’t know what happened to souls or why some refused to move on.

Edward is close to deciding the whole last three months had been a long hallucination and has nearly decided to call the police and plead insanity when the body on the table opens its eyes.

“Edward?” it whispers, like his name is something to be handled with care. The body sits up. The wound in its chest has disappeared completely underneath the hole in the t-shirt it still wears. When Edward turns around, he sees ice blue.

“Thomas,” he breathes, and he’s at his side before he realizes he’s moving, embracing his lover as tightly as he can. “How does it feel?”

“I’m…” Thomas kisses Edward’s shoulder, still tense in his arms, “I’m hungry.”

Edward laughs. He’s never felt so happy before in his life as he does when he takes Thomas’s hand and leads him to the kitchen for peanut butter and crackers.

* * *

The novelty of modern food (especially peanut butter) keeps Thomas entertained for the greater part of an hour.

“What if I was to cover myself in this and have you lick it off me?” Edward laughs, grabbing Thomas around the waist from behind and hooking his chin over the other man’s shoulder to kiss his neck.

“You dare defile such a delicious thing with your lewd thoughts?” Thomas asks in mock horror, putting the jar of peanut butter down and turning to kiss Edward properly. He tastes sweet.

“I confess,” Edward says quietly, “right now I’m having quite a few lewd thoughts.”

Thomas smiles. “I suppose we both have to get acquainted with my new body.”

* * *

There are differences, but none that make him any less _Thomas._ He is a little bit taller, a little bit more muscular, cock a little bit longer. The biggest difference comes when Thomas crawls in close and whispers in Edward’s ear, “I feel empty,” and Edward, acting on pure impulse, flips them over and spanks Thomas hard across the flank of his ass.

Thomas yelps, but it turns to a satisfied hum as Edward mouths over the stinging flesh and kisses a trail towards the centre.

“You look empty,” he whispers. “What do you want? What do you like?”

Thomas sits up. “I want what you did last time. With your mouth. I want you to make me come with your tongue wrapped around my cock.”

He says it with an intensity that makes Edward slide off the bed and onto his knees, lips parted in anticipation.

“I would like that very much,” he answers, eagerly nuzzling his sideburns against the inside of Thomas’s thigh. The rubbing of his face against the soft, pale skin pushes his glasses askew and he makes to take them off. Thomas stills his hands.

“Don’t you want to see what you do to me?”

The prospect of seeing Thomas in crystal clear sharpness was worth any discomfort caused by the metal frames pressing into his face. Edward nods, and Thomas spreads his legs.

Without hesitation, Edward closes his lips around the head of Thomas’s cock. He licks around the head, wetting it so it’s easier to sink down on the hard flesh in front of him.

“Does this please you?” Thomas asks, threading his fingers through Edward’s hair. Edward looks up through his eyelashes and nods, cock halfway down his throat. Still, Thomas pets his hair gently, a thoughtful look on his face. “What can I do in return?”

Edward pulls off Thomas’s cock with a wet ‘pop’ but keeps it close, holding the length against his cheek and nuzzling into it.

“Just,” Edward turns his head and presses a kiss against the side of the velvet flesh, “tell me if I’m doing well.” With that, he presses another kiss against the base of Thomas’s cock, into the unruly curls of black hair from which it springs forth. He slides his lips up the underside to capture the head again within the wet heat of his mouth.

“_Oh,_ that feels amazing,” Thomas sighs, fingers massaging Edward’s scalp as he takes him deeper in his mouth. “_You_ feel amazing.”

Edward whimpers, hips thrusting forward from where he kneels on the carpeted floor of his bedroom.

“You’re doing _very _well,” Thomas says. The feel of Edward’s moan reverberating around his erection is all he needs to continue petting his lover’s hair and praising him: “It’s a sight to behold; my Edward, on his knees, mouth full of prick. You’re beautiful, my Edward, and your mouth is _exquisite_.”

Edward reaches a hand down to rut against, but Thomas passes him a pillow from the head of the bed. As Edward sinks down on Thomas’s cock again, taking it all the way down to the root, he slides the pillow in between his legs and rubs his painfully hard, untouched cock against it. He pulls back halfway, savouring the taste of Thomas on his tongue, before sliding his lips back down until the tip of Thomas’s cock rubs against the back of his throat.

“You’re so needy, but so good,” Thomas whispers. Both hands are in Edward’s hair now, directing but not pulling him up and down as he begins to suck Thomas’s cock in earnest. His hips jerk forward when Thomas says ‘good’, and the utter neediness of the man at his feet has Thomas about to come.

With his hands tangled in the hair just above Edward’s ears like handlebars, he pulls him off his cock and comes in thick spurts across Edward’s face.

Edward looks thoroughly debauched. His lips are red, parted and shiny as he pants in deep, shaky breaths that betray his arousal. His eyes are dark beneath his glasses, which are marked with a streak of come across one of the lenses. It drips off the metal frame onto his lips, and he chases it with his tongue. He’s looking up at Thomas with a desperate plea for release in his eyes as he continues to rub himself slowly against the pillow between his thighs.

Thomas leans in and wipes a dribble of come off Edward’s cheek. “Good boy,” he whispers, and Edward cries out and comes.

* * *

“We can leave this place now,” Edward says, once he is cleaned off and wrapped in Thomas’s arms. “We _should _leave this place.”

Thomas smiles at him, bright and dazzling as always. “I’ve always wanted to live by the sea.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go.”

“I want more peanut butter, too.”

Edward just smiles and leans his head against Thomas’s bare shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail blowjob king Edward Little

**Author's Note:**

> TO BE CONTINUED ON DAY 8


End file.
